For if the dust of everything, the particle
of every gesture and every moment
is always and already the very shimmer
and form of the here and now, then
the person you have always been
but think you are still trying to become
is right here trying to get your attention,
trying to turn you away from the asshole
who has just said something incredibly rude
or even cruel while standing next to you
in line, so that it causes you to forget
the sound of the music you carry inside,
it causes you to believe the falsehoods
inflicted by whoever brandishes the biggest
flame seething in the abyss of his un-
acknowledged fear or pain— But the past
is paradox, is both now and still
to happen; will never be fixed like stone
in burial ground. The scorch of summer
has opened its pores, incessant rains
have softened it for growing.
Not even the chill of coming winter
can alter the structure of what
the seed is/meant to be.